


Sunset Falls

by Ornament_of_Rhyme



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attack, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), clint finds it difficult to keep his nuclear family from his team family, everyone's got their own coping skills, implied PTSD, some are wiser than others, summery setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7569073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ornament_of_Rhyme/pseuds/Ornament_of_Rhyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In trying to understand what about the water repels him from swimming with the others, Steve learns something new about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Began this story a year ago (almost exactly) and decided to finish it off for the anniversary.
> 
> I was very insecure about writing a Marvel fic, completely overwhelmed by the exorbitant amounts of source material, but here we are! Hopefully this turned out alright.

There was something almost surreal about watching his teammates rise and fall with the narrow dirt path, clad in their individual swim clothes. There was so much skin that he was unused to seeing from them, with the exception of Bruce, who had opted to wear a running singlet while the rest of the males were bare-chested. Even Steve himself felt strangely naked. That isn't to say all of this was bothersome, simply bizarre.

 

Soon, following Clint's lead, they came to a wider cliff that gave them a tantalizing overview of their destination. The falls weren't tall, but they spilled over their edges as beautifully as any other. From this distance, the water was a glassy shade of jade.

 

“Okay, Barton gets carte blanche on outdoor activities from now on,” Tony said, heading down the remainder of the trail that lead to the swimming area above the falls.

 

They laid down their towels on the wide, smooth ledge of rock beside the water, and Steve nodded, saying, “Yeah, between, this and that hide and seek game—“

 

“Don't call it hide and seek,” Barton interrupted. “That undermines the game. It's so much more than hide and seek—it's Sardines.”

 

Steve just raised his brows, unsure how to respond to the intensity.

 

“Where is Natasha?” Thor asked the group.

 

More out of curiosity than any serious worry, they surveyed the area, finding no sign of the woman.

 

“Up here, boys.” Her voice echoed off the stones and drew their eyes to the forested area across the water, then up to a cliff that towered higher than the lower falls. She took a graceful leap off the edge, and plunged. They couldn't see the lower water from where they stood, but the splash stretched so high as to be glimpsed over the falls.

 

“How'd she find that so quick?” Bucky murmured from where he waited beside Steve.

 

“I suspect,” Steve began, stepping up to the water's edge, “that Clint _and_ Natasha have been here before.”

 

“I'm sure they have,” Bucky said suggestively.

 

Steve snorted. “I'm tellin' ya, Buck, they aren't like that.”

 

“Yeah, sure—” the other began, but was cut off by an alarmed shout.

 

“Whoa-kay!” Everyone's heads whipped around to watch the commotion. Tony's arms were up and gesticulating at Thor. Thor's body, rather. His very naked body. “Shorts stay on, buddy; this is a public swimming hole.”

 

“Why would you cover yourself?” Thor asked, meeting the eyes of Clint and Bruce, who stood behind Tony. “It is a less pleasurable experience.”

 

“I can't really disagree with that,” Tony muttered, but Bruce came to his side ready to answer.

 

“Regardless, clothes are typically required for public swimming holes in Midgard,” he told Thor. “This is one of those places.”

 

Frowning, and quite possibly affronted, Thor scooped up his shorts and stepped back into them.

 

Clint moved to the water's edge, declaring to the group at large, “You'll want to jump right in.”

 

“Why?” Bucky asked.

 

“Other than the fact that there's just a drop-off and no way to ease into it?” Tony asked, nudging a pebble from the edge of the shelf they stood on into the deep water with a tiny _tlop_.

 

“Yeah, other than that,” Natasha said, coming up from behind Steve. He vaguely wondered from where she climbed back up to them. “This water is runoff from the mountain.”

 

“In other words it's cold,” Clint finished. “So you'll want to jump in and get it over with.”

 

Thor made a show of waltzing to the edge of the shelf, shrugging, and diving smoothly into the water.

 

“Show off,” Tony declared, before jumping in after him. When he resurfaced, it was with a furious curse. “S'fuckin' cold,” he bit out.

 

“Come now, friend Tony,” Thor said. “Tis no worse than Jotunheim.”

 

“Yeah, well, I've never been to Jotunheim.”

 

From over Steve's shoulder, Bucky asked, “You comin'?”

 

Turning, he found his partner with his toes already tasting the water. He stepped up beside the man, looked down into the water—water which, up close, was infinitely clearer than the suggested jade tinge one saw at a distance. The only sight to behold were the rocks visible at the bottom, but they were clearly a ways down. Perhaps, Steve thought, he would make it a point to see for himself just how deep it was.

 

It was then that Bucky lept into the water, making a splash that reached up to Steve's hips, and dousing everything below them. The cold was like a shock to his system, one that left Steve rigidly still and with all his breath trapped in his lungs. A faint memory called out to him, but he easily ignored it, entrenched as he was in the focus to relax his body and let out his breath.

 

“Steve?” Bucky questioned, cupping a hand around his eyes in an effort to look up at his partner through the intense sunshine.

 

Steve took a slow breath that he hoped went unnoticed, saying, “I'm fine, Buck. But I think I'm gonna stay up here for now. I'll catch up with you.”

 

His partner's brows furrowed, but he didn't argue. “You'd better,” he said with a tease to his tone, and set off for the falls.

 

Steve smiled after him, watching until he took his first jump over the cliff's edge with Clint at his side, and trying not to think about how uncomfortable the water suddenly made him feel. Rather, once Bucky was out of sight, he turned his eyes to the rest of the team.

 

Thor was a short distance downstream, laying in the shallow water there, just before the falls and letting the current flow over his body, as though he were just another boulder to erode. It did look calming, though.

 

Tony and Bruce had their backs pressed up against the shelf, with their elbows docking them when the stream would rather be herding them away.

 

“You know, Bruce,” Tony began. “Contrary to cynical belief, I do actually require absolute consent before I jump somebody's bones.”

 

Too acclimatized to Tony to even blink, Bruce just asked, “What are you talking about, Tony?”

 

Tony said, “I'm talking about your shirt, of course. We've all seen your bare chest— _the world_ has seen your bare chest—so you're not shy about it. The only other reason I can see is that you must be concerned that I wouldn't keep my hands to myself, which I would.”

 

It was as Bruce glanced up and gave Steve a timid smile that the captain realized he was listing in on a conversation he had not been invited to. So he turned his eyes back in Thor's direction, though his feet stayed planted. This was the kind of privacy they were used to by now—a thin, courteous illusion.

 

Bruce said to Tony, “You're right, it's, uh, not out of modesty that I'm wearing this. I want to unwind today, and walking around shirtless just makes me feel like I'm waiting for the Other Guy to come out.”

 

That, Steve hadn't considered when he saw that Bruce chose to wear a shirt. He hadn't thought much about it at all, really; just blithely assumed the doctor felt less insecure that way. It was because of this realization that Steve abruptly found himself noticing Natasha's suit—an indigo one piece. He didn't believe she cared one way or the other about how much skin she showed—even despite the shorts-cut of the suit—but instead wondered if she wore it to cover her scar. Was she hesitant to show the rest of the team? Or, perhaps more likely, was she concerned as to how Bucky might react to finding the residue of his past deeds marking a friend? (After all, as far as they knew, Bucky's memories of interacting with Natasha as Hydra's Asset were lost, and they weren't in a hurry to kick up that dust.)

 

She combed her sopping hair out of her eyes and caught Steve's contemplative stare, drawing him out of his thoughts.

 

“Care to join me?” she offered, lifting herself onto a cluster of boulders that jutted out of the water across the way.

 

He tried on half a smile. “I appreciate the invitation, but I think I'm gonna see what's upstream.”

 

She nodded with a knowing smirk playing at her lips, and he tried very hard not to think about what she thought she knew.

 

Instead, he asked, “Though, out of curiosity, what is it you're doing?”

 

Beside her on the boulders was a stack of stones she had been collecting from the bottom of the main pool. They ranged in size from a loaf of bread at the bottom of the stack, gradually up to one the size of a wallet.

 

“We call them 'Tasha Towers',” Clint put in. He bounded over currents and across boulders to reach her.

 

“Don't you dare knock this over, Barton,” she warned. He snorted.

 

“Preaching to the choir, Nat. Already learned that lesson.” Coming to a stop at her side, just before the tower, Clint handed over a stone that was flat and oblong.

 

She appraised it, and upon conferring it worthy, balanced it on top of the wallet-sized rock; either long end lapsed far over the edges. Then, she began stacking progressively smaller stones on top until it finally tapered off with a pebble.

 

Steve couldn't withhold the smile that lit up his face. A Tasha Tower. So reminiscent of a lighthouse.

 

“Wait, who is 'we'?” Tony asked.

 

Clint blinked. “Me, myself, and I.”

 

“I do it because it relaxes me,” Natasha directed at Steve, effectively putting a stop to Tony's brewing lineup of questions. “There's something about putting all my attention on a simple, inconsequential task... Nothing works quite like it.”

 

Steve knew that kind of peace. He found it in the power of his motorcycle on a lazy afternoon, or occasionally in the glide of his pencils. But most often it manifested as he went lax in Bucky's arms, or in those moments where they moved as one unit, each an extension of the other.

 

“I'd ask to join you...” Bruce started.

 

“But?” she urged.

 

“But I'm almost certain nothing can give me that sense of rest anymore,” he finished. ( _“We'll see about that,”_ Tony murmured. Bruce ignored him.) “I imagine it would be about as frustrating as building a house of cards.”

 

“Now those are tough,” Steve tagged on.

 

From there, the conversation split in two; Bruce and Tony, and Clint and Natasha, leaving Steve to hover alone. He saw Natasha give Clint a pointed look and shake of her head. He just let out a deep breath.

 

With nothing else to distract him, Steve set off on his tame adventure upstream. It began with bounding over a natural rampart of rock—smooth and fossil gray as the rest—that one could only go around if they could fit between the tangle of trees and bushes on one side, or were willing to get wet on the other. Looking out from the top of the wall, Steve could see that upstream was as picturesque as where the team had laid out their towels. And just as downstream, the ankle-to-shin deep shoal was hollowed out in places, leaving yawning pools in which to swim, all intercut with small waterfalls.

 

Set into the slope on the other side of the rampart was a cluster of stagnant pools, isolated from the main runoff. He crouched beside them, observing the water-skippers, and the slimy moss carpeting the inner walls. Then, when his interests waned, he sat back into a sun-baked sump of ground and watched the stream caress everything it glid past.

 

A long while was spent exploring in much the same manner, with an eye for detail that he hadn't found in himself since before the war. It was that curious eye that led him to a spot not far from Thor's water recliner, where Steve stretched out on his chest to peer into a still, deep puddle that was but inches away from the stream.

 

He watched the goofy stick figure-like shadows the sun cast into the water—the distorted shape of water-skippers that flitted over the surface. Their paddles, their tiny boat bodies, the way they moved, as though they kept forgetting where they intended to head as soon as they began paddling along: all these minute things held his rapt attention.

 

And it wasn't boring, but soothing. He almost forgot about the way his body seized up at the touch of the water.

 

Almost. But before he could, a paltry wave swept into the pool and over his hands, sending a shock through his system again as Bucky lifted himself out of the water. He scooted back to sit beside Steve.

 

“Okay, what's eatin' ya?” Bucky asked. He leaned back on his arms, letting the sun paint his skin.

 

Steve watched the water slither down his chest, somewhat enchanted with the sight. In answer, he hedged, “Just regretting that I didn't grab my sketch book.”

 

Bucky hummed.

 

Removing his head from its pillow on his hands, Steve sat up, moving over to bracket Bucky's hips with his legs, and his waist with his arms. His shorts were wet, and his body cold, especially where his metal arm came to rest against Steve's leg. It was made ice cold by his time in the water, but the captain managed to contain his shiver to the writhing in his gut.

 

Reading his partner's silence, he added, “You don't need to worry about me, Buck.”

 

Bucky turned his head. His cheek brushed Steve's forehead. “I wouldn't worry about you if you'd just come swim with me.”

 

“I don't know, I'm not feeling it today,” Steve hedged.

 

Bucky shrugged, but Steve could still sense the contest in him. To prove it, Bucky insisted, “We're on vacation, Steve! Or something like it. Point is, we're supposed to have fun today. It's our opportunity to do something different together that doesn't involve fighting a new variant of alien species.”

 

Guilt gnawed at Steve. His partner was not wrong, and he wouldn't pretend otherwise. But still, Steve felt his insides twist at the thought of getting in the water.

 

Sighing, he pressed his forehead into Bucky's shoulder as he warred with himself. Eventually he shook his head back and forth against the skin. Words failed him.

 

“Alright,” Bucky conceded. He scooted forward and slid back into the water.

 

Unwilling to leave it like that, Steve murmured, “Hey,” to get the other man's attention. When it succeeded, Steve looked pointedly at the other's lips.

 

Bucky moved closer to meet him for the insinuated kiss, but jerked away suddenly with a mischievous new light in his eyes.

 

“Nope. None of that unless you can catch me,” he declared. Then he swam out into the middle of the pool.

 

Damn it, Steve thought. He could live without that kiss, but more than anything Steve _wanted_ to play along. He wanted to give chase. He felt like a kid again, watching the other children play outside while he was stuck, sick, indoors.

 

Giving the water-skipper one last glance, (and hoping he would remember it well enough later,) he stood, stepped up to the edge of the rock, and stared dubiously at the water. The internal pep talk he gave himself didn't help any—it was certainly one he would never give to the team—so at last, he shook out his arms, told himself it would be over soon enough, and dived.

 

He surfaced cursing under his breath. It was even more insufferably icy than he feared. But Bucky, down stream, and Natasha, who basked in a deep pool between waterfalls, applauded him, and he found it within himself to press on after Bucky. However, he did make a mental note to take fitting revenge on his partner within the next few days.

 

As toilsome as it was, he forced his attention away from the water and instead focused his mind on the chase.

 

For every few feet Steve swam, Bucky took twice that backward. (And Steve dutifully did not stop to think about how much slower his own pace was.) Soon enough, Bucky came upon the edge of the upper falls, and could only float there as Steve neared him. As they became only an arm's length each apart, Bucky started moving again.

 

He climbed out of the water and stood tall on one of the stone outcroppings that divided the falls. Steve hustled to catch up, but just as he got his feet under him, their eyes met, and Bucky stepped backward over the edge with a grin stretched across his face. Ambling forward, Steve hoped to catch Bucky's ensuing splash, but he only heard it as he reached the ledge of the rock seconds too late.

 

After Bucky resurfaced, Steve called down, “You don't deserve my kisses!”

 

“Oh but you know they're the only thing that keeps me going,” Bucky returned.

 

“Okay, gross. Us kids don't want to know anything about the grandparents' love life,” Tony shouted from somewhere in the forest. As if reminded, Steve looked around and did a quick head count. Everyone was accounted for.

 

“I hate to threaten the captain,” came Clint's voice over Steve's shoulder. “But if you keep stalling I'm gonna have to push you off.”

 

Steve stepped away from the edge and motioned to the drop-off. “After you.”

 

Clint smirked, unmoved. “Age before beauty.”

 

Steve shook his head and retook his place at the tip. The sun had already began rewarming his skin, too, he lamented. Once more forcing his persistent thoughts away from how cold he knew the water to be, he stepped out into thin air with the parting shot, “Damn kids.”

 

Clint's resonant cackles could still be heard when Steve buoyed to the surface, but the captain's attention was on Bucky. Or, rather, the lack thereof. He scanned the water, the rocks, even back up the falls, but there was no sign of him.

 

He knew Bucky was fine—probably just hiding—but still Steve's heart rate picked up, and the freezing water felt more consuming.

 

He kicked faintly for the nearest dry surface when Bucky hollered. Steve's head whipped around to the far wall of rock—from which Natasha had previously dived. Carved into its foot was a somewhat superficial grotto where water eddied evenly in and out to fill the base in a seamless flow. In the middle of the little cave, Bucky had perched himself quite handsomely on a boulder that stuck out of the water like a pedestal.

 

Vaguely, Steve wondered how he didn't spot the man in his sweep. Then, it occurred to him that seeing Bucky safe did nothing to calm his heart or the writing in his gut. Nevertheless, he veered around and went to cling to Bucky's rock, effectively caging him at last.

 

“That kiss better be worth my while, Buck.”

 

The other man grinned, and leaned in. Steve pressed up to meet him. “Well, dollface, if it's not, we'll just have to keep going until we find one that is,” Bucky said against Steve's lips before they closed the gap.

 

Slow and tender was the kiss; Steve's favorite kind because it felt so much more involved—like all their attention was for each other. But all Steve could think about was the ice wrapped around his legs and hips, the thrum of his heart racing, and the crescendoing fear in his chest. He was frozen _to his core_.

 

It was only as Bucky pulled away to rest their cheeks together that Steve realized he had stopped kissing back.

 

“Everything alright, doll?” Bucky asked. Then, before he could reply, pulled back and said, “Geez, Stevie, you're shaking.”

 

“N—no,” he denied through his teeth, even as trembles began to roil through him. He pressed his forehead to the boulder.

 

Before he knew it, Bucky slid into the water beside him, placed a hand on Steve's waist, and tried to assess the problem.

 

“What is it, Steve?” he croaked.

 

Steve opened his mouth, trying to find elusive words, and only managing to say, “S'real cold, B—Buck.”

 

Memories of a younger, smaller, frail Steve came to Bucky's mind. A frightened look passed over his features, leaving in its wake a most serious expression.

 

“Here, get up here,” he instructed, patting the rock. Steve followed without question.

 

Once he was out of the water, Bucky could see clearly the goosebumps which had risen all over his skin.

 

“I can't...” Steve pulled his limbs tight to his body, keeping them as far from the water as possible, but it still splashed against the lowest point of his back at regular intervals. “I can't breathe right,” he gasped. “It's cold, I can't breathe.”

 

Helplessly, Bucky reached out for him. The other man flinched at the touch, and looked up at him. There was a faraway look in Steve's eyes, something wholly unfamiliar in Steve. He was thinking something painful, that much was clear.

 

“What is it, Steve?” Bucky asked once more.

 

“I can't do this again. I can't lose everyone again,” Steve insisted between gasps.

 

That hit Bucky _hard_. Because he had ample time to put the puzzle pieces together after they reunited, and so he knew that Steve thought such things often. It just never felt so real or pressing, not until that moment when Steve finally voiced it. Bucky spared a thought to hope and pray this didn't put him in his own downward spiral.

 

“I know.” His voice broke off at the end. “I know you're scared.” He wanted to tell him that nothing was going to hurt him, that he wouldn't allow it, but he was uncertain that it would help. What was he not supposed to say again? It was a struggle to remember; he was always the one panicking. Now he was afraid to speak, for fear of something coming out too inconsiderate, or simply unwise.

 

When he panicked, Steve would talk to him, or listen to what he felt he had to say. And there was breathing. Breathing was important.

 

Talking was pretty much out until he could think of something helpful to say, and Steve was mostly lost in his head with whatever hell his brain made for him, so he didn't say much either. Which left...

 

“Steve,” Bucky said, aiming for a relatively calm, authoritative tone, “I need you to take a deep breath.” When no visible response came, he tried again. “You are not in danger, Steve. You're having a panic attack, and we need to get your body to calm down.”

 

That got Steve to look at him with a hint of awareness in his eyes.

 

“You've gotta stabilize your breathing,” Bucky told him. “Deep breath in,” together they inhaled for a handful of seconds, “then let it out,” before letting it go. Steve's breathing remained choppy as he transitioned to the new pace, but after a few more controlled breaths it found some stability. That is, until water splashed against Steve's back again. At that, his breath stuttered back into its quick pace.

 

It was becoming clear that the water was at least in part the cause of Steve's panic. Him being stuck on a rock surrounded by a trigger wasn't going to let the problem ease away on its own. That in mind, Bucky said, “C'mon, doll, let's get you back to shore.”

 

Steve snapped, “I'm not a—“ but his words were lost in another pant and he forgot about them.

 

Though the sudden burst of anger took Bucky aback, it was clear to him that Steve's ire was not directed his way. In fact, he could imagine all too well the cyclone ripping through Steve's mind.

 

So he said, “I'm not treating you like a kid, I'm tryin'a help you. Just like you did for me when you found me again, and just like you still do when somethin' hits a trigger for me.”

 

Steve raised his baby blues. His chest and shoulders still bobbed with his panting, but it was slower than before. Some of the wild fear in his eyes was replaced by a more present concentration as he processed Bucky's words.

 

Steve nodded, but his eyes darted to shore, and to the daunting stretch of water between it and him.

 

Bucky moved to interrupt his view. “It'll be over quick, and I'll be with you the whole time,” he said.

 

Hunching over his legs, Steve buried his face in his knees. Then, with something akin to a growl, he shoved himself off the rock, crowding into Bucky's space with a splash.

 

“There ya go,” Bucky encouraged. Steve's self control had always impressed him, no less now.

 

Wordless, Steve kicked off the rock and made a beeline for shore. Bucky kept pace, keeping an eye on the way Steve seemed to be holding his breath the whole time.

 

Then they were at shore. Steve levered himself out of the water with a hiss of breath and crawled some feet away from it to collapse on the smooth stone. By the time Bucky reached his side, Steve had pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in them again.

 

His breathing was still labored, so Bucky coached him into a more stable pattern. Thankfully, without the water rising to lick Steve's back, when his breath slowed, it was able to stay there. Bucky's own pulse calmed along with him.

 

They sat there, for a long time. How long, Steve couldn't tell; he just knew that his skin was warm and the few remaining droplets on his person were innocuous.

 

He looked up when a sun baked towel was draped over his back, and was surprised to find the team surrounding him, though of course they made it appear as if all of their towels were laid out there to begin with. Natasha was at his left, sitting like him with her head turned his way, but her eyes were closed. As if sensing his gaze, she opened her eyes, and there was no pity or sadness there. Only support.

 

He heard a shuffling behind him, and looked around to find Thor standing, staring out at the falls like some sort of sentinel. Steve decided he must have been the one to place the towel on his back.

 

At his feet, Bucky was laying directly on the rocks. He watched Steve take in his surroundings and smiled when those blue eyes landed on him.

 

Steve opened his mouth to speak, and wavered at first, but he eventually said, “I apologize.”

 

Bucky sat up, shaking his head. “Nope. No, because if I can't feel guilty when I panic, then you can't either.”

 

He wasn't wrong. Steve had involved himself in Bucky's therapy enough to understand such things. Though he did feel a thread of guilt, he would just have to deny it its reinforcement until it faded.

 

From Natasha's other side, Clint stretched. “I'm starving,” he announced. “I say lunch.”

 

The others agreed, with Tony intoning the loudest from Steve's right.

 

They gathered up their belongings and headed back toward the van (because Tony insisted everyone drive together in order to “optimize the experience”) with nary a complaint about leaving. Instead, he heard new plans being made to try a different swim spot the next day.

 

Upon reaching the main path, Steve made one last survey of the land, taking in the heedless water, the barely there breeze ruffling the leaves above, and the four rock cairns Natasha had built. It was perhaps the most serene place he'd ever been, and maybe one day they would return as a team. Maybe by then he will have learned to cope with the anxious feelings the frigid water stirred within him.

 

Bucky reeled in his attention, slinging an arm over Steve's neck and tugging him into a half hug. When he pulled away, his hand trailed down Steve's shoulder and arm, resting palm to palm so their fingers could knit together. It was an uncommon form for their affection to take, but never an unwelcome one. In response, Steve butted him lightly with his shoulder, receiving one in kind.

 

If he couldn't figure out how to handle the temperature of the water, he thought then, he could just as much enjoy sketching Sunset's scenes.

 

Some minutes passed on the short hike back to the parking area, with the two of them bringing up the rear and listening to the banter between Clint and Tony and Natasha. Eventually, Bucky lowly toed, “What... What happened?”

 

Steve took a long time to chew on the question. It wasn't until the van was in sight that he said, “I kept thinking about landing in the ice. Back in the '40s.” There was a pause. “I was remembering what it felt like to freeze slowly until I couldn't handle being conscious anymore. The only comfort was the thought that I'd get to see you and ma again.”

 

Bucky felt sick. “Well you were half right,” he forced out.

 

Steve glanced at him, with some humor in his eyes, which Bucky tried to incur. He was unused to touching on the topic of the decades Steve was icebound. Simply enough, it was acknowledged as having happened, but Steve never went into the minutiae.

 

It was then that what Steve was implying clicked together for Bucky. Memories of the ice were triggered by the temperature of the water. The water he coaxed Steve into when he was clearly avoiding it.

 

“Oh, God, Stevie, I'm sorry.” Bucky halted, deliberately sought his eye. “I'm sorry.”

 

Steve smiled kindly at him, squeezing their clasped hands. “It's alright, Buck. It's important that I know about this. We'll know what to avoid in the future.”

 

“...I guess that's true.”

 

Anything else Bucky might have said was drowned out by the blare of a horn. It cut out when they looked to the van, and Tony, sunglasses on, ducked out the driver's side window to call, “Justice Friends Party Bus ready for launch, captain.”

 

The remaining dregs of panic drained away from Steve, knowing that whatever this newly discovered anxiety meant, it did not herald the end of his life. Just as in Bucky's case, he knew he had the team behind him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Steve!” he cried out, voice echoing off the still water and rocks and foliage and trees he knew existed, but which could not be seen through the brume that enshrouded everything beyond the mouth of the cave. Nothing returned his cry.

 

Again and again he called out. He kept calling until all his throat allowed was a faint rasp.

 

With every shift of his body, the vines tightened around him—snaking over his chest and arms, securing him uncomfortably in the tiny cave.

 

He dangled there, resolving gradually to hopelessness, for what may have been hours before anything happened beyond a water-skipper paddling by.

 

It began with an eerily loud splash a ways off, into the wall of fog. The fog did not muffle the sounds of each subsequent splash and swish as whatever it was neared—swish after swish after swish—until at last a small figure emerged from the heavy haze, all thin arms and feeble chest and ashen skin.

 

Steve cut carefully through the water, panting softly as he reached the boulder Bucky nearly stood upon. He found a grip in the dimples of the stone, and then looked up at his friend.

 

“I've got ya, Buck,” he reassured, or tried.

 

“Steve...”

 

Now that Steve was there, Bucky wanted little more than for him to leave. The young man shook like a leaf from the low temperature of the water—water that had been intolerable to him even when he was a super soldier.

 

But Steve ignored his worried tone as he dug his bony knee into the rock and hauled the bulk of his trembling body from the water. He steadied himself and turned his eyes to Bucky, who could feel the horror dawning on his own face as he looked into Steve's.

 

“Doll, your lips...”

 

Steve gave him a crooked smile and rolled his eyes. “Even at a time like this, Buck?” he asked with his light bite of sarcasm. He then leaned in and up to press their lips together in a chaste kiss.

 

Bucky couldn't bring himself to reciprocate; all he could think of was Steve's cadaverous skin, sickly blue lips, and the frigid touch of the kiss.

 

“Stevie,” he tried again when Steve pulled back, but he went ignored.

 

“We need to get these off you,” Steve said of the vines. He reached up a hand to cup the ones wrapped around Bucky's neck, curled his fingers over them and gave a weak tug. Bucky shivered at the chilled touch.

 

“Steve,” he pled. “Steve, go get help.”

 

“Sorry, Buck,” Steve shook his head, “But it was damn hard to get here, and I don't know if I'll be getting back without you.”

 

Bucky always admired that Steve was the intrepid one, but that was usually after he forgot how frustrating that quality really was sometimes.

 

“Steve, listen—“ But Steve jerked, and Bucky lurched in response, instinctually trying to reach out to the other man. The vines only tightened their bands.

 

“What was that?” Bucky asked quietly.

 

“There's something...” Steve peered behind himself, down at the water. Slowly, as though laden down, he began to pull his foot from the water. What breached the surface was not just his foot, but his foot encased in a thick chunk of ice.

 

“I'm so numb I didn't feel the cold,” Steve remarked, perplexed. “But I could feel the weight.”

 

Bucky pitched toward him again, wanting to pull the smaller man closer. “Get the rest of you out of the water,” he demanded.

 

Steve began to comply despite arguing, “But I'll have to get back in eventu—“ The rest of the words were lost when Steve jerked again, his calf submerging into the glossy water.

 

“Get up here, Steve!” Bucky's voice pitched up in panic.

 

The next instant Steve's body received a hard tug backward, and he slipped down until he was waist-deep underwater.

 

“Buck,” Steve gasped as he scrabbled for purchase on the boulder.

 

Somewhere, Bucky knew he couldn't have struggled against his restraints any harder, but giving in to that reality wasn't an option, so he pulled and thrashed and threw his weight around until he could hardly budge taught vines.

 

It was then—as though something was waiting for his full attention—that Steve was sunken to his neck. His panicked blue eyes met Bucky's own and their mouths moved to speak, but finally, Steve was dragged completely below the surface—the crystalline surface that allowed Bucky to watch every second. He saw Steve sink as though he were hitched to an anchor, saw him slow in his fight against the cold while a glass-edge delineation of solid ice entombed his defenseless body. And when it looked like he hit the bottom, and he was wholly frozen in place, there came the frost and sepulchral creak of the water freezing through.

 

With that, like a floodgate had opened, sound rushed back in. He hadn't even realized it was gone. Now his own screams hit his ears, and no matter how loud he cried out, the iced-over pool didn't crack.

 

The sharp vice of terror is what woke him then. Bucky came to consciousness with his pulse pounding, and his breath sighing out harshly. He levered up on his arms and gave the room a bleary once-over. It took a second recall the reason he was waking on the sofa in the team living room and not in his bed with Steve.

 

It was the trash littering the couch, carpet, and glass coffee table that jogged his memory: the trash was exclusively candy wrappers, left over from their Team movie night. (Bruce and Tony always put a lot of thought into the sweets the team would binge on as they sat through their weekly movie.)

 

Other than the wrappers and Bucky, the only other evidence of their bonding activities was Thor, strewn across a great portion of the other bend of sofa. Everyone else must have found their way to their own beds. They left the lights dim, and the TV turned off.

 

Trying not to step on a stray Toblerone box, Bucky got to his feet with the buzzing need to find Steve guiding him into the hall.

 

_Like a child_ , he thought as he slipped into their moonwashed bedroom. Just seeing the outline of his partner under the sheets was a tremendous relief on Bucky's nerves.

 

He tried for subtlety, but the mattress shifting under him woke Steve, who in response rolled to face him, muttering something like, “—wondering if you'd ever come.” However, the words couldn't process because all Bucky could focus on was the sickly blue of Steve's lips.

 

“Doll, your lips—“ he choked, shocked by the parallel to his nightmare. Was this just another dream? He couldn't watch Steve freeze over again.

 

Steve didn't seem to notice his spike of fear, instead he stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought until a realization struck and he replied, “Are they blue? Tash made me try one of her...” He waved a hand, searching for the word. “Candy things. Those ridiculous sour ones. I thought everyone was givin' me funny looks...”

 

Bucky let out a gust of air and chuckled halfheartedly. “Jesus, ya mook.”

 

“What's the matter?”

 

“Nothin'. Don't worry about it. Just a nightmare.”

 

“Really bad?” Steve asked, vigilance aroused.

 

“Scared the life outta me, yeah,” Bucky said. He hunkered down to lay facing his partner. “But you're right here, so no problem.” Though his heart still twinged with the memory, he was calming quickly.

 

Bending closer until they shared the same pillow, Steve tipped their foreheads together. “Not goin' anywhere, Buck.”

 


End file.
